He entered smiling, removing his sombrero with his customary flourish. But as he advanced he shot a swift, keen look at Marion. "Something's happened!" she repeated to herself. But she came forward with a smile, and shook hands with Smythe, searching his face. And he was warning her again. She could have shrieked with impatience and anxiety, but she held herself, and waited. "A terrible night, wasn't it?" said Claire, giving Smythe a chair. "Terrific!" replied he. "You know the big pine that hung over the road just this side of Toumine's? Well, it's down, right across the road. I had to ride around it, up among the underbrush." "I didn't sleep at all, and I'm used to winds, too," said Claire. "It got me up at daylight," Smythe went on. "It didn't look like much of a day for riding, but I got nervous sitting around listening to my good landlady--one of the young Martins is threatened with something or other--and started out to see how the landscape had been changed. There are trees down everywhere, and--" He paused. "What are you doing this morning, Miss Gaylord?" he asked, very casually. She had been silent, watching him. "We were going shooting, but we've been waiting to see if the weather would change." "Then you haven't been out?" "Only on the veranda for a minute." "Let's take a brisk walk, then. It'll do you good--warm you up a little." "Yes," she said weakly. She went to her room for her hat, and pinning it on before the mirror, started at sight of her face, which had grown very white. She was almost incapable of thought. The hatpin slipped from her cold fingers, and fell to the floor. She stared at it strangely before stooping to pick it up. How could she bear to hear what Smythe had come to tell her! But it was good of him to wait until he could tell her alone. "Will you go too, Mrs. Huntington?" Smythe said, as Marion emerged from her room. Claire looked at Marion, and wondered at the whiteness of her face, and the haunted look in her eyes. Nothing had been said, but she saw there was something. "No, thank you!" she said promptly. "The house suits me this morning." Smythe and Marion walked up the hill toward the tree where Marion had practised shooting. Until they reached it neither spoke. "Well?" said Marion, turning suddenly on him. "Sunnysides has got away." "And he?" she cried. "Thrown, but not hurt." She stared at him a moment, dazed. Then she threw back her head, and clasped her hands on her breast. "Oh!" she murmured. "But how you frightened me!" Smythe looked at her silently; and presently, when she lowered her eyes, she saw that his face was very grave. But Haig was unhurt, and Sunnysides had escaped. She had prayed for just that. "What is it?" she cried, leaning forward to clutch his arm. "He's following." "Following?" "Yes. Alone." "Where?" "Yonder." He pointed to the west. "To the San Luis?" "Yes." "The way they brought him here?"